


Fine Décor

by a_name_machine



Category: Original Work
Genre: Death, Gothic fiction, Horror, Narrative, Original Fiction, Spiders, Thriller, first-person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-14
Packaged: 2018-02-17 09:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2304215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/a_name_machine/pseuds/a_name_machine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When a reclusive neighbor invites the speaker to his manor for a meal and tour of the old building, the speaker jumps at the opportunity to get to know this seldom-seen man.  He soon discovers that the meal mentioned in the invitation may not have been for him, after all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fine Décor

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first contribution to the Archive; it's a short work of gothic fiction that I wrote recently. All settings and characters are my own.
> 
> Any and all feedback is welcome.

“Upon the wall–it's very small–  
you may notice some dust.  
But look again and please refrain  
from screaming, unless you must.

“Thin as a hair suspended in air,  
you will find that the dust is all 'round.  
Won't you prod: 'Ain't it odd  
That the source is nowhere to be found?'

“But wait for night–oh what a sight!–  
A feast before your eyes!  
Night will fall and none shall stall–  
the moths meet their demise!

“Look!–You're blessed! Please take a rest;  
upon the miracle, gaze!  
Here is one–she's almost done–  
To her and hers, I praise!

“And speaking of–great heavens above!  
Just look! They're waking early!  
Do not be alarmed, they will do no harm.  
They are kindly creatures, surely...”

It was at that moment that I broke the trance. This deranged man's lunacy had ripped me from reality as I thought I had known it and had held me fast in place with a disgusting mixture of fear and outright disbelief.

Now, looking around the room, I saw more of them. Spiders. Each one the size of a silver dollar at the least. Silent as Death himself, with crooked shanks for each damned leg, and soulless voids set in their heads above the daggers in their mandibles. They skittered across every surface in sight, pouring out of each orifice the poisoned lifeblood of the Araneas manor until the structure itself pulsed with a dreadful heartbeat.

I decided it would be wise to bring my generous neighbor's tour to a premature close.

I had hardly turned about before they were upon me. A thousand scuttling up each leg, at least two dozen that made it to my arms through uncertain means, and a handful of clever wretches descended onto my head from above. Shrieking aloud and flailing in vain to shake the ravenous fiends from my flesh, I dashed out from the once-cozy chamber to find my way back out.

At once, every light extinguished, as if at the beckoning of an unholy ritual. Every lamp and candle in the whole manor held no more than a wisp of smoke, the dying ember at the peak of the wick glowing briefly with the faintest of lights only to succumb to the suffocating darkness a moment later. Dumbfounded, I was still for a moment, left only with the mute tickling of one million little swords dancing a terrible dance over my body.

Then all became motionless in that crowded blackness. Still as a tomb, save for my heart beating, drumming, crying for help, until for a fleeting instant even that faded from me.. Agonizing hours passed which may have been mere seconds, and the slightest pinch at the base of my neck set fire to my limbs, and I ran, knowing not where to or why I dare even attempt escape.

As I ran, I swept my hands all over, ridding myself of some of them. At one point I flung myself into the living wall, jarring a few loose, crushing some to paste, but yet allowing more onto me. On I went, racing down any flight of stairs I would come to, lashing my limbs out all the while to the point that I could hear–but was too panicked to feel–snapping. I clawed at my face, pulling the demons from my eyes and mouth. I shook and twisted in any way I thought could get them off of me.

I have no means of knowing how long this frenzy lasted, nor how many flights I descended, but I eventually came to a level where, instead of dry stone, each step I took seemed accompanied by a flat, lifeless splash. Lungs all but bursting from my chest, I collapsed onto the warmly damp floor. Amid fierce fits of coughing and sputtering, I was astounded to find that not one spider remained on my person.

I sat up, steadying my gasping breaths. To my discomfort, every breath seemed to be more difficult than the last. I breathed more slowly, focused, strained my chest to breathe deep, and managed to collect myself. To one side of me, I noticed a dim red light–at first I was certain that the blood vessels in my eyes had erupted. But, glancing about, I was sure that the light was in only one place. I stood, and my chest tightened all but shut. Each breath grew shorter still as I choked down as much of the heated air, thick with the water on the ground, as I could. I tried to steel myself for walking, but a thick, hollow click behind my back shocked my heart and froze my thoughts. I turned my head slowly–in part from wariness, in part from weariness.

Only darkness met my eyes, except now it seemed solid. And watchful.

The sole force that pushed me onward was survival instinct. Every breath continued to shorten at a rapid pace, but my only choices were the light and whatever fallen god was awaiting me in the pitch darkness of the home's bowels.

As I shambled into the desperate, low light, I found myself in a stone corridor, wide enough for at least four bodies end-to-end, tall enough for fifteen tombstones, and with water standing up to half an inch all across the floor. The puddles had adopted a sickening hue from the light source ahead–I might have sworn it wasn't water at all.

From behind, the sound came again. I fought every impulse telling me to look at my predator, for I knew that it would no longer wear the blissful cloak of night over its form. I quickened my pitiful pace, wheezing now for shortness of breath.

Finally, I reached the source of the light, which had become nearly blinding as I drew closer. A fire pit at the heart of a massive chamber, casting shades of blood onto any surface that would reflect them. Opposite the roaring blaze from me stood my neighbor, smiling a hellish grin. I looked at him again and saw in the place of human eyes the same black marbles in the faces of the spiders.

Rounding the flaming pit, I lunged for him–I would gouge those terrible eyes out. My lungs refused to take in the burning air at all, but I found strength enough to plunge two fingers into those glass pits in his skull. I would make it certain that his plague would be removed from this world.

He made no sound and flinched not one muscle. He only stood there, rigid as a pillar of salt, relentlessly brandishing that inhuman grin. My chest would not heed my demands for air any more, and my knees buckled beneath me. With a final effort, I rolled myself onto my back to keep my face from the boiling puddles.

The world around me began to blur, taking all of my senses with it. But just before I was utterly gone, I saw a beast whose very existence haunts my spirit to this day: a black behemoth with eight vicious legs crawled from the corridor and drew to its full size, filling the chamber with its wretched form. It was covered in obsidian plates that burned with unspeakable patterns, and seated in its horrible face were glossy holes alive with death. It was these eyes that put more fear in me as my conscious mind slipped away than any of the events thus far had–in those evil orbs was the purest most ungodly indifference and apathy, and then I knew that the man was but a puppet.

I lost all of my being staring at the eyes of that monstrosity, knowing nothing but my absolute insignificance to it.

*** * ***

The next thing I knew was the sweet relief of air filling my lungs. My eyes shot open, and I gasped desperately, my face finally removed from the pillow.

I sat upright, waiting for the panic to settle and give way to the delight of the waking world–of being awake! Fully relieved, I sank back into the soft embrace of the bed, heart pounding in sweet recovery.

A dream! It had all been my imagination running amok! No doubt it was a terror of a dream–my limbs were sore, my chest ached, and my cheeks were badly scratched–but nonetheless a dream! Truly, there are no words in any language to do such a feeling justice.

My stomach was churning unhappily–it didn't take the scare well, I supposed–so I sprung out of bed, fetched a glass, and stood at the window of my bedroom, admiring the sunlight pouring in. I opened the window and took the deepest, strongest breath of that morning air that I ever took.

In spite of this, my stomach refused to be consoled. Churnings became rumblings, and with the rumblings came nausea. Just as I thought to lie down once again, the rumblings grew further into a maddening, boiling sensation. I scarce had time for alarm before my side felt that it had been pierced by a crude knife, and I fell crippled to the floor. My eyes widened, and my whole began shaking in horrid fits. The nausea and panic overwhelmed me and I wretched–only to be disappointed when it produced no yield and, thus, no release.

I felt something in my hands, which had instinctively flown to my middle. I looked and saw them washed in the cruel hue of the fire pit. The horrid boiling in my gut was now one million little swords dancing a terrible dance through my insides. The pressure and the dancing grew until until they alone were a fate far worse than death. In an instant, my center popped open, creating a pain so great as to overwhelm every sense. Only my eyes and ears returned, and as the newly hatched spiders crept out to fulfill their wicked duties, the door creaked open. Framed there in the doorway was my neighbor, smiling as he had been the night before.

Though he was mute and his lips remained shut, the last I ever knew was the sound of laughter echoing from the fire pit, ringing out of his eye sockets.


End file.
